


Uncommon Confusion

by morrezela



Series: Book Knowledge [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, M/M, Monks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the day after Jensen has overtaken Jared’s town and conquered Jared himself. The Viking is nowhere to be found, and the guard left in his place isn’t the most communicative bastard in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncommon Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This isn’t real. The people mentioned belong to themselves. I am receiving no remuneration from this.
> 
> Warnings: Historical inaccuracies, seduction of a monk, misrepresentation of Vikings.
> 
> A/N: This is my fifth fill for my Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card. The square is ‘captivity.’
> 
> This fic is a timestamp for Book Knowledge. Reading that first is advised.
> 
> Once upon a time, I bartered with lexicale and offered her a sequel fic of her choosing. Then I, uh, kind of didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. But Lo! I realized that I could fit in her request for a sequel to “Book Knowledge” and fill a Bingo Card prompt at the same time.
> 
> This is totally cheating, and you should never teach your kids to do it.
> 
> All mistakes that you find are my own.

If Jared went to sleep content, his heart certainly doesn’t remember the feeling the next morning. The unfamiliar confines of the room are confusing at first, but the knowledge of what happened the day before comes crashing into him quickly enough. The information makes his head spin and his pulse race. He’s not sure whether to feel aroused or ashamed, terrified or complacent.

Jensen isn’t with him, and for that Jared is very grateful. No doubt the Viking is off doing important raiding things. If Jared is to know his own mind, then Jensen’s presence would likely be a hindrance to that. The man’s body makes Jared’s body crave unnatural things. The tackiness of oil, sweat and other more sinful substances that cover Jared’s body are a testament to how little control Jared truly has of his own lusts.

Shame courses through his body when he recalls how easily he fell prey to the raider the day before. It had taken mere hours for Jared to go willingly into bed with the very man that had attacked his own village. For that alone, Jared should whip himself, but the problem is that Jared’s bodily want is hardly alone.

There were other factors and circumstances that weighed in on Jared’s actions the previous day, and they remain intact with the rising of the next day’s sun. The village is still conquered, and the people still need lenience. Being Jensen’s consort is an opportunity to bring peace and comfort to the town that Jared would be hard pressed to duplicate.

He knows that the logic of his choice is sound, but he doesn’t know if the goodness in it outweighs the shame of his lusts. Certainly it is wrong for him to have allowed carnal knowledge before a marriage commitment, twice as wrong even for he violated his vows of celibacy.

Worse yet, Jared has no reasonable assurance that Jensen was speaking truth when he spoke sweet promises in Jared’s ear. He would not be the first man to lie in order to bed a virgin.

A rap at the door is followed quickly by it swinging open. Bright rays of sunshine blast into Jared’s eyes before a shadow blocks them as a man enters. He is tall and dark haired, but his blue eyes are similar to many of the other Vikings that Jared had seen the day before. He has a handsome face. It appears to be schooled into indifference, but Jared knows that appearance is all that it is. The man is unhappy.

“Can I help you?” Jared asks after a moment. It is the most civil thing that he can think of to ask. He is filthy and naked save for the sheet that is wrapped around his body. Jensen’s mouth and fingers left bruises on his skin, and he has no desire to shift into a better position and expose more of himself to the stranger.

“I am assigned to protect you,” the man answers brusquely. His accent is thicker than Jensen’s, but Jared cannot ascertain whether that is because he is not as fluent in Jared’s tongue or because he is upset.

Jared says nothing else. He has no desire to antagonize the man in front of him, but he’ll not beg for information either. If his apparent bodyguard wants to stand at the door in stony silence, so be it. Jared long ago became accustomed to noiseless proximity to others. Vows of silence were common in the monastery, and while Jared himself struggled with keeping his mouth closed, others had no such issue.

The quiet, as Jared suspected it would, bothers the new man. After a scant twenty minutes, he shifts and clears his throat to say, “You should get dressed.”

It isn’t that Jared disagrees with the statement so much as he cannot see his robes anywhere nearby to change into. Bathing before dressing would also be nice even if it would be a luxury. He is certain that he smells like the tavern maids do, and the scent is all too likely to ripen into something vulgar later on.

He shrugs and says nothing, inspecting the weave of the sheets instead. His ass aches, and he worries about moving. It is not quite painful, but rising from the bed is certain to remind him of how wanton he had been the night before, how brazen and lustful he had been under Jensen’s warm hands and warmer body.

“Are you saying to me nothing?” the guard snaps out, his voice guttural.

For a brief second, Jared is tempted to correct the man’s sentence, but he holds his tongue.

“I have no clothes,” he says instead.

The man’s gaze rakes around the room and eventually points to a pile of linen that is resting on a small table. Jared doesn’t recognize it from the previous day, but his sandals are resting atop of it. It was clearly left for him, but it is just as clearly not his robe.

With a martyred sigh, Jared slides from the bed and forces himself to dress in the foreign fabrics. They are light and easy against his skin. The weave of the fabric is soft and forgiving, but the cut clings to his body highlighting muscles that he grew from hard work and gardening. It is unseemly to display his physique in such a manner, but his other choices are remaining naked or draping himself in the soiled sheets of his sin. As he found the day before, he truly doesn’t have a better choice, so he counsels himself about the virtues of patience and suffering.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The guard hustles him off the ship the instant that Jared finishes dressing. If being seen naked by the guard was embarrassing, the stares of his people are worse. They gawk at the bruises on his neck and some point at the cut of his clothes.

There are lines all about the port. Men and women and children alike are queued up to speak to Vikings who have dragged the fine desks and tables out of the local courthouse. It is a census, that much Jared can tell, and he isn’t sure if his shock is because Jensen’s men know how to perform one or just that they have organized one so quickly.

The craftsmen of the village are in the loudest line. It appears to be some sort of permitting booth, and Jared wonders if Jensen intends to have the same sort of taxes that his predecessor did. It would be his right, and even though those taxes were excessive, the men in town would gladly pay if it meant the chance to hock their goods to paying customers instead of entitled masters who underpaid them.

Jared’s keeper guides him along the streets and into the local metal worker’s store. The building is old, but the scorch marks on the door posts are new. They’re remnants of Jensen’s siege, and Jared feels guilty for them even though he was far off in the monastery praying when the damage was caused.

Once his eyes have adjusted to the relative dimness of the shop, Jared can make out a certificate nailed to the support beam that the money changing station rests against. The rest of the shop is unchanged from the last time that Jared was in it, and he takes a moment to wonder at the control that Jensen must have over his men. They must have wanted to loot and pillage, and while the shop is nothing fancy, it is also the only place in town that deals in the fine metals and jewels that are used to make finery.

In Jared’s grandfather’s day, there were many shops of greater quality that would line the docks of the port, but those long since closed their doors. They were put out of business when necklaces and bangles became frivolous wastes as farmers lost customers due to the way that the town was being run.

The only reason that this particular shop is still in business is because the local blacksmith cannot make a spoon that can stir a pot let alone allow a man to eat soup. A knife he can make and even a crude fork, but he has never been able to craft a good spoon. The jeweler had capitalized on this flaw and has been making his living on eating utensils for years now.

Shrewd eyes look over copper rimmed glasses at Jared as the merchant notices that he has visitors. He starts to come over, but stops short and sniffs at the air. His eyes rake over Jared’s exposed skin, and the little old man turns wrathful eyes on Jared’s keeper.

“What manner of man sends a defiled monk to walk the streets like this? Poor Jared is as innocent as a babe in the woods. He has done nothing to deserve this,” the old man lectures Jared’s keeper.

“You should hold your tongue,” the Viking answers.

“Bah! I am old and thought yesterday was my last day. What difference does it make if today is instead?” the old man retorts.

The tall Viking looks confused by the old man’s words, and Jared wonders if it is the concept of age that bothers him or just the language barrier.

“Stupid and brutish,” the old man mutters as he grabs Jared’s hand and drags him towards the back of the store.

“Where are you going?” the brute asks as he lumbers after them.

“To get this poor boy something to clean himself with,” the old man answers.

“Lord Jensen…”

“Lord Jensen isn’t here, boy. I don’t care what business he has with me. If he made sport of young Jared and then sent him around to display his lordship’s shame, he can damn well wait until I fix what I can. I’ll not be part of ruining a monk. I’ve got my pride about me still.”

Jared flushes at the words, and tries desperately not to think about anything at all, especially not the disgrace of his body and how it deceived and tricked him.

“Lord Jensen wishes to purchase a token of affection for his… Jared,” the brute stubbornly imparts as the old man hands Jared a cloth that is dripping with cold water.

The old man’s eyes go wide before they narrow in anger. “I’ll not be putting a toque of slavery around a man’s neck. I care not how much power your lord wields.”

“No he wishes, wishes a… an…” the brute trails off and mutters something in his guttural native tongue before looking to Jared. His blue eyes practically beseech Jared to say something. It is as if he thinks that Jensen had put his tongue into Jared’s body instead of his seed.

As soon as the thought flits through his mind, Jared lets his eyes drop to the floor. He is mortified at the way that his mind turns against him. One night of carnal pleasure has opened him to very base thoughts.

“I know well enough what he wants. You’d do well to tell your master that baubles won’t make a man happy. A bird doesn’t care how pretty its cage is. It only cares that it is in one,” the shopkeeper responds, unknowing of the turn that Jared’s thoughts have taken.

Jared can hear in his voice a soft sort of wistfulness and melancholy. The elders of the town had long held their people captive. There had been no locked gates or bars on windows, but the people had been made reliant on those in power, and attempts to trade with other towns stolen from them. Jared can see the worry in the man’s eyes that the Vikings will be the same.

It hurts that he cannot offer comfort. He has been made nothing.

“Might I have some privacy?” Jared asks because he has nothing more meaningful to offer, and his skin does chafe.

His keeper looks doubtful, but the shop owner’s glare makes the man back down. Jared is keenly aware now of why he had not seen the man the day before. Despite his impressive stature, he is obviously not one of Jensen’s more forceful men.

He can hear muttered gruntings and half formed words when they leave him alone, and by the time that he slips back into the shop proper, there are trinkets spread over a table top, and the shopkeeper is looking a bit more mollified.

“Vikings are crazy,” the old man tells Jared. “You best be praying for them hard.”

“I pray for all the souls under my care,” Jared answers honestly.

“Mmm,” the old man grunts, “then I best be praying for you when you’re under theirs, for I don’t trust your brethren to do the same. Not when they figure out what your Lord Jensen is about.”

Jared darts a look at his keeper, but the tall man’s blue eyes are completely confused, too many foreign words put together at a pace that he cannot keep up with. Jared is familiar with the look. He had caught it on his own face as it reflected back to him in the monastery windows as he tried to follow the Latin being taught him.

“And what is Lord Jensen about?” Jared asks.

“As far as Mr. Tom here can tell me,” the man pauses and makes an insulting gesture at ‘Tom,’ but smiles while he does it so that it appears he is being gracious. Jared is tempted to remind him that lying is a sin, but he’s too tired to be dealing out penance.

“As far as he can tell you?” Jared prompts.

“That fool Viking intends to marry you. Put a man on his arm like a bride.”

Jared flushes and fights against the tiny thrill that the man’s words give him. He had heard Jensen’s promises the night before, but he hadn’t believed them come the morning. Men lie. That is the first and most important lesson that Jared ever learned in his studies to become a monk.

“You do a great service to us by this,” the old man tells Jared as he holds out a tray of plain bands for him to try on his finger. “Don’t you let any man tell you different. Don’t you listen when they call you whore or anything else. If a man must have a master, it is better that he be a happy one. And there is no person who can better whisper in a man’s ear than his… wife,” the last word comes out strangled, but Jared can hardly fault him for it.

He feels much the same way. He’s confused by Jensen’s odd choices and not a little despairing of the way that his body reacts to the Viking lord’s body. His mind is at war with itself because he already trusts Jensen more than he trusts the former rulers of his village, yet he knows them both to be masters instead of leaders.

Jared doesn’t truly know Jensen. Even though he has shown greater mercy than expected, he has still killed and injured the people that Jared swore to guide. He still seduced Jared away from his vows and into Jensen’s bed. He could be a great deceiver, and Jared could be too gullible to know the difference.

Yet as Jared slides the first ring onto his finger, it doesn’t feel like a prison. It feels like a key.


End file.
